


Bet: A Drarry Fic

by toooldtolive



Series: A-Z Drarry [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Mutual Pining, Quidditch, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:00:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21798745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toooldtolive/pseuds/toooldtolive
Summary: Pansy, bless her, bets Draco that he can't woo Potter. Draco bets that he can.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Drarry - Relationship
Series: A-Z Drarry [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1570807
Comments: 11
Kudos: 261





	1. Truth or...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Personaje](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Personaje/gifts).
  * Translation into Español available: [Bet: A Drarry Fic [Traducción]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22147054) by [Personaje](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Personaje/pseuds/Personaje)



> I threw this together in literally two hours with zero proof-reading. If you spot a typo please tell me! This is the first in a series of relatively short fics--I was hoping to hit every letter of the alphabet. I feel like it's needless to say that this is the letter B.

Draco and Pansy are lounged across the only long couch in the Slytherin common room, heads on opposite sides. With Draco's legs on the inside and Pansy's legs on the outside, they'd made it impossible for anyone else to sit down. They're playing Truth or Dare with Blaise, Daphne, and Theo. Blaise is on the floor, head on the carpet and feet up the wall. Daphne and Theo are each on opposite chairs, turned towards Pansy, who's telling a rather scandalous story about the first time she gave a blowjob.

"...or Dare, Draco."

Draco was thinking about the war again--how Potter had stood up in the middle of his hearing, without even asking permission to take the stand, and leaped-- _leaped_ \--over the barrier dividing the audience from the defendant. Leaped. He had pulled the woman out of the chair--a muggle-born witch who he'd never seen before in his life, until she came to testify that he had killed her sister--and thrown her at the dementors guarding him. He'd never seen Potter so livid in his life.

"You're lying," he had growled through gritted teeth.

"No," she squeaked--she knew that lying in court would translate to months, maybe even years in Azkaban.

"I would never lie to the court. I was there, he killed her!"

Harry had advanced on her, backing her up almost into one of the dementors. The dismay on her face was plain for all to see; here was Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World, calling her a liar. If Draco hadn't been so drained from his time spent locked up, he would almost have been amused. She was getting what she deserved.

"Then what day did you say this was?"

"March 26th!"

" _I_ was at Malfoy Manor on March 26th. I know Malfoy couldn't possibly have been out killing your sister, because he was there with _me_."

The court was silent. The woman whimpered--she knew she'd fucked up. "Mr. Potter, would you like to press charges against the prisoner?"  
A moment more of silence. This was it. Potter was going to expose him to the court--he remembered vividly doing his best not to expose Potter and his friends. He thought about how unfair it all was, that he was going to rot away in Azkaban--no. He'd rather die. He'd kill himself first, he'd-

"No."

Draco slumped in his chair. _No?_

"Mr. Potter, he is a war criminal-"

"He was a child, like the rest of us. A victim of circumstance and poor upbringing. Not unlike many of the audience here today." Potter gestured to the crowd. Some people murmured their assent--most, if not all, of the audience was half-blood or less. They'd all dealt with a relative who was stuck up or worse.

"He made his decisions the day I was there. He, despite being a close classmate of many years, told Bellatrix that he could not recognize me. That he could not be sure if I was the one Voldemort wanted." The audience flinched at the name.

"Draco Malfoy proved, that day, that he was not a Death Eater. He was not focused on his blood heritage. He was so much more, so much better. He was a hero."

The audience suddenly all started talking at once.

Draco was dazed. A hero? Harry Potter was calling him a hero? In his hearing? Was this a fucking joke?

The judge banged his gavel on the stand. "Silence!"

Draco looked up at the judge, then at the dementors, then at Potter. Potter looked determinedly back up at the judge, who was frowning. "Mr. Potter, Draco Malfoy has done far more evil than good during his time in the war--"

Potter cut him off. "No, he didn't. He actively worked against Voldemort at every opportunity. He not only did not hand me over when I was caught, but gave me his wand to fight with and with his help, I escaped."

More muttering from the stands.

"I have this wand with me, here, today." He pulled it out.

Draco was stunned. Speechless. Harry Potter was openly, blatantly, lying to the court. And they were eating it up. After all, why else would Harry Potter have Draco Malfoy's wand, if not to help him? Draco had to marvel at Potter's creativity. The only question was... why?

The rest of the hearing passed easily. Every victim who claimed to have been injured by him (more than half of Draco had never seen in his life) was dismissed. Harry Potter said that this prisoner was innocent. Nothing else could stand a chance.

"Draco, dear."

Draco stirred. Not again. It was the fourth time that day that he'd completely spaced. Daphne and Theo were looking at him--they looked amused. He looked at Pansy, who had spoken. She was smiling, but her eyes looked concerned. He thought for a second, and deduced what she must have said.

"Dare," he said, carelessly, waving a hand in her general direction.

She immediately caught on to his dismissive attitude--they would talk about it later. For now, she would act as if nothing was wrong with him.

"Alright then... I have a dare in mind. Pick a person."

Draco was still not really all there, he was still thinking about... "Harry Potter."

Pansy's smile turned absolutely menacing. Draco regretted everything, but he wasn't about to show weakness. Show no fear. Never let it show--especially not around Pansy.

Draco laid his head back on the embroidered pillow, despite his entire being screaming to escape, escape, escape. Pansy now knew he had been thinking about Potter. And judging by Theo and Daphne's faces, they knew too.

"Draco, dearie, I guess you're going to have to woo Potter, then," she said, smiling sweetly.

Draco froze. Woo Potter? He'd always dreamt--always thought about--always wondered if they could have been--

"No."

Pansy's smile fell. "It's a dare, Draco, you can't say no."

"I can, I will, and I am. No."

Pansy's grin returned. "Fine, I suppose with your current appearance wooing anyone would be too difficult for you, anyhow."

Draco's pride flared up, the narcissistic Slytherin snake inside him rearing its head. Although it was true he had been a bit off-color since his spell in Azkaban, his hair was half-way back to its previous shine and he was slowly building his muscle mass back. Pansy knew he had been sensitive about this. This meant war.

"Fine," he said, through gritted teeth, "but on one condition."

Pansy grinned. "Oh? What's this condition of yours, Draco dear?"

"It's a competition. Me with Potter, and you with Granger."

Daphne snorted into her hand--Pansy and Granger had an aggressive hatred almost rivaling Draco's with Potter.

Blaise started laughing, then flipped right-side-up again, to face the rest of the people. "Screw the rest of the game, I want to watch _this_."

Pansy's face turned red, and her eyes flashed with fury. For a moment, Draco remembered the brutality with which she could cast an Unforgivable. Then it was gone. Instead, she had her competitive face on. "Fine, me versus you. But--"

"No 'but's, Pansy."

"Oh no, I think you'll like this. The loser has to pay a price."

_Damn. There went his plan to purposefully lose and watch Pansy make a fool of herself._

He huffed a little. "Deal. I'll decide on what you have to do _after_ I win."

Pansy grinned evilly again. "We'll see about that, Draco dear. Because _I_ intend to win."

The group headed off to bed, with Theo and Blaise chortling together. Daphne immediately began to talk strategy with Pansy, and Pansy was animatedly talking about eyeliner and "dressing up". Draco groaned internally--this was going to suck. Briefly, he wondered what Pansy would want him to do--throw himself into the lake naked? Walk around in heels all day? Or-- _shudder_ \--wear one of those horrible leather miniskirts of hers? The possibilities were endless, and Draco found that he wanted to lose less and less. He had to win. He _had_ to.


	2. Ride my broom?

The next morning, Draco watched Potter. A lot had changed after the war, but a fair amount had stayed the same. Potter still sat with Granger and Weasley, people still ogled Potter constantly. More than ever, it seemed. Girls were "accidentally" trailing hands across his back, dropping notes into his food, and pretending to drop things in front of him constantly. Potter, stupid, Saint Potter, stopped to pay attention to them all. He said excuse me to the ones touching him, he read the notes that were dropped in front of him, and he helped whoever fell down. Stupid Saint Potter. Worse yet, Weaslette seemed to making some headway--although Potter had broken up with her before, it seemed she was back on it, now more than ever.

Draco put his head in his hands, rubbing his face. Stupid Potter and his stupid fanclub. How in the world was he supposed to get at him, now?

Draco felt someone looking at him, and turned to look at Pansy, questioningly. She was busy staring down Hermione Granger, who was glaring right back at Pansy over a rather large book. It wasn't Pansy looking at him, then. After a quick sweep of the Slytherin table, he deduced that it wasn't a Slytherin. He looked up, and found himself looking straight into the very green eyes of one Boy Who Lived Twice.

He felt a blush beginning to creep up--why should he be blushing?--when Potter smiled a bit. And waved. Draco feebly waved back.

_Drat. That was terrible. That won't do at all._

Draco mouthed at Potter--talk to you out there?--then pointed to the window, where the Quidditch stands were. Potter nodded, once, curtly. Apparently nothing had really changed between them, then. Pity.

Draco shook his head. Pity... because that would make it more difficult. Challenging, not difficult. Nothing was difficult for Draco Malfoy. He rolled his shoulders back and cracked his neck. Harry Potter wasn't going to know what hit him.

Out on the quidditch field, Draco fiddled with his wand-cover--a gift from his mother. It was a beautiful Black heirloom, with fabulous green embroidery and silver trim. It covered the bottom half of his wand, allowing for better grip and more fashionable appearance to his otherwise rather plain wand. He remembered distinctly being disarmed, Potter taking his wand away from him, the hearing, Potter returning his wand to him _at_ the hearing, the way Potter had glared down anyone who dared to speak out against him, and wondered...

"...Malfoy!"

Potter was up in the air, on his new Lightning broom. Created after the Firebolt, it was deemed faster and more agile, but ultimately too dangerous for its rider without some safety enchantments, which are illegal in professional play. This, of course, did not stop Harry Potter. He had one, and used it regularly, anyway. Draco felt jealousy rise up inside him. There was a time when he would have bought a Lightning to spite Potter and to be able to race him, but now his family did not have those kinds of resources. He was lucky that he wasn't sitting in a cell in Azkaban, after all. Draco himself hadn't brought a broom--he hadn't been planning on calling Potter out here when he first went to breakfast.

Now Potter was up in the air, on a broom so fast it was declared illegal in professional play, and here he was on the ground, looking up. Potter glided down to him, and Draco had to marvel at Potter's dexterity with a broom--it effortlessly landed him at exact walking speed, as if he had been walking the entire time. There was no difference between his flying and his walking--if anything, the flying was more graceful. Far more graceful. Draco suddenly wished that Potter hadn't dismounted.

"I said, Malfoy, where's your broom?"

Draco could feel the beginnings of a blush. He didn't have one--he'd been using the Slytherin team's donated supply of Nimbus 2001's. "I didn't bring you out here to compete," he started.

Potter looked at him. He looked like he wanted to say something, but didn't. Draco was silent. Was Potter going to say anything? "Then... what did you bring me out here for?"

There was genuine confusion on Potter's face--three years ago Draco would have laughed. Now he was just nervous. Why did he bring Potter out to the quidditch field? Was it because this is where he'd always felt the closest to Potter, and so he'd be able to woo him better here? Was it because he missed seeing Potter zip around? Was it because HE missed zipping around?

"I--"

Draco cut himself off. _I want to kiss you so I can win a bet against Pansy? I need you to go on a fake date with me? I want you to get on your broom again and show me all the tricks you've learned how to do?_

"Malfoy..."

Draco silenced his thoughts. "Potter."

"If you wanted to try riding my broom, you could have just asked directly. You didn't have to do all that." He waved his hand in the general direction of the Great Hall.

Draco stood there, stunned. Ride his broom? _Ride_ his... ah. The Lightning. Yes, of course. Saint Potter assumes everyone wants something that he can provide, then he provides it. Of course.

"I... yes. I'd like that." Draco wondered if he should... could he? He should...

"Thanks."

Potter beamed. Potter handed him the broom, and their hands touched. Draco trailed his fingers over Potter's--since when did Potter have so many nice veins and muscles on his goddamn hand?--and sharply snatched the broom from Potter. What was he thinking, trailing his hand on Potter's? Some contact, sure, but the broom was large enough that he could have avoided touching Potter at all. Instead, here he was, caressing Potter like some sort of girl. Sheesh. Ridiculous.  
Potter grinned. "You're going to give it back, right?"

Draco grinned back. "Maybe... if you teach me how to do that thing I saw you doing over the lake."

Potter blinked in surprise. "But that was at 3. In the morning. You sleep in the dungeons. How did you see...?"

Draco smirked. "Guess you'll have to earn the privilege of knowing, won't you, Potter?"

Potter sneered back, "Hm, only if you're capable of learning. But that's doubtful, honestly..."

Draco grinned. He was having fun. Fun? Fun.

Potter moved towards him, and he backed away. All the memories came back--Fenrir slamming him against the wall, threatening to eat him if he didn't identify Potter--Bellatrix grabbing him by his hair, purposefully Apparating in the most painful way possible--The Dark Lord watching as his own father advanced on him, casting Imperio after Imperio, trying to get him to resist the curse.

Potter stopped moving. "Malfoy?"

Draco blinked. He was in the sunlight. He was here, with Potter, of all people. He had his hand out, for what, he wasn't sure. They were going to mess around on Potter's new broom. Right. Yes.

Draco cleared his throat. "Yes, Potter?" He tried to put on his best sneer, but he could tell he was failing miserably. Potter looked concerned. Stupid Saint Potter.  
"Malfoy, I'm going to have to be near you to show you the move. Is that okay?"

Draco stood there for a moment. Was Potter... asking consent?

"Yes, it's okay, you dimwit. I'm fine."

Potter visibly relaxed, which caused Draco himself to relax--when had he tensed up? Potter walked up to him, then stopped just short of being in arm's range. If Draco stretched, he'd be able to touch him. It was unnerving.

"Okay, mount the broom, but don't take off yet. There are some charms that I need to warn you about."

Draco did as he was told. He mounted it, and he could feel the broom stir a little bit, almost like a sentient creature. It hummed slightly, softly.

"You hear that? That's the defense mechanism. It allows others to hold, but not take, the broom."

Harry touched the broom's handle, his fingers mere centimeters away from Draco's. "Now the broom knows that you're permitted to ride."

Draco looked down at the broom. It really was beautifully made, and he felt that pang of envy again. The humming had stopped. Potter laughed a bit. "Had you tried to take off, it would have shot straight up and dropped you--you'd also be Body-Bound."

Potter smiled. "That last bit was Hermione's doing. She figured falling off a broom wouldn't be enough of a deterrent--you have to stop them from attempting it again."

Draco couldn't help but be impressed. Hermione was a formidable witch.

"Now, the move is essentially just a hanging dive, but you have to cast aguamenti behind you as you travel, and allow it to fan out--that's why I was practicing over the lake. It's fairly simple, you just have to be able to hang on to the broom with one hand, upside down, as you cast. Any questions?"

Draco must have looked flabbergasted, because Potter started laughing. "Just?"

Potter laughed again. "Oh, please. It should be nothing for the Great Draco Malfoy, Quidditch Star," he teased. Draco squared his shoulders--of course it would be easy for him. Of course. But just in case...

"You should ride with me."

Potter looked surprised, then nodded. "For safety reasons."

"For safety reasons."

Draco lowered the broom a bit to allow Potter to mount behind him. He noticed, with some satisfaction, that Potter was slightly shorter than him. Not by much, but just enough that Potter had to look up at him to talk. It was only noticeable at extremely short distances. Extremely short distances. Draco felt a blush creeping up again. Goddamn stupid face.

Angry and not a bit flustered, Draco kicked off. Potter had _not_ been ready. With a desperate cry, he grabbed Draco around the waist, hugging him securely from behind. Draco was startled enough that he jolted, causing the broom to leap forward with incredible speed. Potter was screaming something in his ear and hanging on for dear life. Draco felt the rush of wind in his face, so fast it was almost painful, and laughed. _This_ was what he had been missing since the war. Quidditch.  
Potter squeezed his ribs tightly, almost yanking Draco off with him. Draco slowed down, and he could hear Potter panting and cursing behind him. "Trust fucking _Malfoy_ to try and get me fucking _killed_ the moment I do something _nice_ for him..."

Draco laughed loudly. They were now hovering fifty feet above the lake, not moving. Potter was still clinging on to him.

"Okay, so I'm in diving position. Now what?"

Potter struggled for a second, then pulled out his wand. His left hand was still wrapped around Draco's torso.

"Lumos maxima. So we're going to go down that way." The ball of light travelled down to the middle of the lake, swooping down in a large arc.

"Then, as we near the water, you're going to flip us over. Just in case, I'm going to bind myself to you."

Draco snorted. "Right. Just in case."

Draco could feel Potter shoot him a look. "You will NOT drop me out there."

"Of course not."

"Promise?"

Draco stirred a little. Potter really was trusting him, wasn't he? He sighed. "Fine. Promise."

"Excellent. Then I don't need to bind myself to you." Draco felt a surge of disappointment. _Wait--what?_

"We're going to flip over, then you're going to cast aguamenti in a sort of misty 'sheet'--you have to mispronounce it intentionally, with a Q instead of the G. Oh, and make sure to not take my eye out when you do it. Since, you know, I'm behind you."

Draco nodded, and he felt Potter shift his position. "Then, we'll flip back over, skim the water a bit with the front of the broom, and pull up."

Draco grinned. This was going to be a massive challenge, already quite difficult thanks to the techniques involved, made significantly more so by the extra person he was carrying. "Any questions?"

Draco began to shake his head 'no', when he had a sudden idea. "Yes, actually, Potter."

"What?"

"Will you go out with me?" and with that, they plummeted.


	3. Lake Flip

Draco could feel the wind rushing by and was busy beginning the flip--he could hear Potter yelling behind him that he was going too fast for the trick to work, but he didn't care. Suddenly there was a huge wall of water in front of him. On instinct, he ducked. Then Potter took over. Reaching around him, Potter's right hand grabbed the handle of the broom and flipped them over, nearly dunking them both. In a haze, Draco remembered the charm--AQUMENTI! A fine sheet of mist came out of his wand, and he got a face full of mist, until he stuck his wand arm up, or down, rather, near the edge of the water. He laughed as the water rippled with their speed. Suddenly they were right-side-up again, and he was panting. They swooped up over Hagrid's hut, and landed back on the Quidditch Pitch. They both fell off the broom, rolling away. Draco was still laughing, and Potter was still cursing.

Draco laughed again, a full laugh that had his eyes streaming.

"Malfoy--you--fucker--could've killed us!"

Draco was still rolling about on the grass, clutching his sides. "But I didn't, did I?"

"Only because I pulled up!"

"And I had everything under control. I even cast the spell!"

Potter huffed, loudly. "You're impossible."

Draco snorted, then sighed, flopping out all his limbs. That was fun. He looked at Potter again. He was looking at him really oddly. He was looking at him oddly because... because... oh. Oh, no. Draco sat up, grabbing the broom off the ground where it had landed.

"Malfoy... did you... were you...?"

Draco cut him off. "Don't worry about it. It's nothing. Just a joke." He laughed feebly. If Potter wouldn't have believed that before, he definitely wouldn't believe it now that he'd heard Malfoy's real laugh. "Spur of the moment thing, really. Ridiculous."

"Yes, but, I-"

Draco cut him off again. "Here's your broom." He tossed it to Potter, who caught it reflexively. Draco stood up, brushing himself off. "That was fun. Thank you."

With that, he strode off, leaving one very confused Harry Potter.


	4. Malfoy...

If one had had an upgraded set of Extendable Ears, they could have heard Harry Potter freaking out to his friends later that evening. In the Griffindor Boys' 8th year dorm room, Harry was ranting about Malfoy and his stupid suicidal antics and why the fuck did he ask me out, Hermione? Was he hoping I'd fall off in shock?

Poor Hermione had been on the receiving end of Harry's Malfoy theories for longer than she could remember. It was always the same, year after year, and she _had_ wondered if the war would change this. Evidently not. Harry had been coming up with more and more convoluted ideas since he had grabbed her and Ron off their couch in the common room and dragged them upstairs. She sighed.

"Harry, calm down. I'm sure Malfoy didn't mean you harm. Maybe he was serious."

Ron snorted. "Malfoy? Serious? About asking out Harry? Please, 'Mione. That's ridiculous. Why would the bugger want to ask out Harry?"

Hermione crossed her arms. "Maybe he _fancies_ him, Ron, did you ever think of that?"

Ron snorted, again. "Just like Pansy fancies you, I imagine."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "If anyone is onto something, it's _her_ , Harry. She wouldn't stop looking at me all throughout breakfast, then she tried to follow me back to the Common Room! I'd almost say she was trying to get me, if she hadn't..."

Hermione trailed off. Ron and Harry looked at her, questioningly. "Hang on. Harry, you said Malfoy asked you out?"

"Yes, 'Mione, I feel like he said that enough, thanks," Ron grumbled.

"I've got it. These two things _must_ be connected. But why would they go for..."

She mumbled to herself for a moment, lost in thought. "They _know_ they'd get in trouble if..."

She suddenly sat up straight, her entire face lighting up. "Aha!"

"Aha..." Ron repeated, making a 'get on with it' gesture.

"I've got it!"

"Yes, Hermione, I think we figured that out for ourselves, thanks," Harry said, chuckling. Ron laughed.

Hermione huffed. "They're _competing_!"

"What?" The boys looked equally confused.

"Hold on, competing over w--" "Why in the bloody hell would Malf--" "Are you saying Pansy asked yo--" "That's ridiculous, 'Mione!"

Hermione grinned. "It makes sense!" She said, excitedly. "Pansy asked me when I was free to 'go to Hogsmeade' with her. I declined, and she looked genuinely upset about it. I asked her if it was about her grades, (because I know her grades are suffering,) but she said it wasn't. She said she just wanted to spend time with me, away from both of you. To get to know me."

Ron's mouth was hanging open. "Hang on, Pansy asked you _out_?!"

"Yes, Ron, that's what I said! And she was disappointed when I said no, actually disappointed, because she's competing with Draco!"

"Whoa, hang on. Since when was he 'Draco'?"

"Since you started dating him, Harry, pay attention."

Ron and Harry started protesting simultaneously, but Hermione cut them both off.

"I'd much rather see Draco win than _Pansy_ , wouldn't you?"

Harry sighed. "I guess, but you really think he was only asking because Pansy made him do it? He really seemed like he... liked..."

Harry trailed off, embarrassed. He had known that Draco suddenly taking a liking to him the moment he had sorted out his confusing sexuality was way too much to ask for, even for him. Draco was the fittest bloke in the year, after all, and...

Wait. Draco? Harry mentally chastised himself. No need to get excessively familiar if this was all for some stupid competition, anyway. He felt a surge of disappointment. Malfoy had some very nice abs. And hands. And face. Also some of his hair's shine was returning, and now that Malfoy was allowed to wear non-uniform robes...

"...Harry!" Harry zoned back in. "Yeah, Ron?"

"I _said_ , why don't you just starve them both out? Make them both lose? They've got to be competing _for_ something, surely."

Harry nodded, slowly, once. "That could work. But how am I supposed to avoid Malfoy if we're potions partners?"

Ron grimaced. "I dunno, mate, but you can work something out. Just don't go anywhere with him alone. Easy."

Hermione nodded, and Ron and Harry high fived. Ron muttered something to him about Pansy not stealing his girlfriend so easily.


	5. Fifty?

The next day, Draco was in an unbelievably foul mood. He'd had his opportunity and he'd blown it all in the span of a couple of minutes. He'd also realized that this dare might have awoken something that he hadn't thought about in a long time--his crush on Harry Potter. It hadn't been a crush, really, more of an idolization. That had been crushed back in first year, when Harry Potter had proven himself to be anti-Malfoy, just as his father said he would be. Since then, he'd done his best to inconvenience him as much as possible, just as Harry's stupid pretty face inconvenienced him. Stupid Saint Potter and his stupid pretty eyes and his stupid scar and his stupid--

His angry mental ranting was cut off by a very angry huff from Pansy. She looked about as frustrated as he felt, and this helped alleviate some of his misery. He worked up the willpower to sneer at her. "No luck, Pansy-dear?"

She huffed at him. "I'll get there, just you wait, Draco. Then you'll be sorry."

Draco grinned. "I take it Hermione's icy glare means everything is going well, then?"

Pansy shot him a look, then looked at Potter. She smiled her 'got you' smile. "I take the fact that Potter is avoiding eye contact with you means that everything's going swell on _your_ end, then?"

Draco huffed. "Yes, actually, things are going great. Better than great, actually. I will have secured a date by the end of the week."

_Oops._

"Oh, really? Alright then, I'll bet you fifty galleons that you _won't_ have a date by then."  
Draco gulped. Fifty galleons hadn't been much when he was younger, but now...

"Deal."

Pansy grinned wickedly. She knew he was going to lose.

"Oh, and Pansy?"

"Hmm?"

"If I get the date, you owe me a hundred."

She laughed. "Sure thing, Draco-dear."


	6. How Can I...

Draco was royally fucked. Harry Potter was avoiding him like he had the plague. Even during yesterday's Potions class, he had made _no_ eye contact. None. He passed over the things that needed to be finely minced, (as Draco had insulted him on his cutting skills before,) and took it upon himself to squeeze and pound and mix everything else. He didn't speak a single word, the entire class, even when Draco attempted to ask him a question. He merely opened the textbook to the correct page and passed it over. It was uncanny. Also, extremely disheartening. How was he supposed to secure a date if Potter wouldn't even _look_ at him?

Today, he knew, Potter had only three classes, none of which he shared: Defense Against the Dark Arts, Care of Magical Creatures, and Herbology. He wouldn't be able to get him before Defense--no, Potter regularly arrived extra early to help set up and to practice individually with the professor. In Care of Magical Creatures, he'd have Hagrid to protect him--Draco wouldn't be able to get a word in edgewise, considering Hagrid was now a full professor. He could get detention or worse. Hagrid still didn't really trust him, and Draco couldn't really blame him.

After Herbology, then. But that was when the fangirls typically mobbed him, and he would be swarmed by a group of giggling girls until he would vanish down some hallway or another, then reappear around supper time. It was hopeless. Unless...? Unless he waited by the Gryffindor Common Room. Surely Potter had to go back to his dorm after class? Alright then, it was settled. After his own Muggle Studies class (one of the requirements for Ex-Death Eaters and Ex-Death Eaters' children), he would go to the Gryffindor portrait hole to wait.

Draco had a sudden realization of how desperate he probably seemed to Potter, and his pride flinched. But it was for the galleons. And the dare. He had to beat Pansy.


	7. The Plan

After Muggle Studies, 2 pm. Draco knew that Potter's class ended at 3, and that the travel time would roughly place him around 3:30. He would have a while to wait. It was just when he had gotten comfortable on his cloak (an heirloom as well, it was enchanted to turn into a chaise lounge whenever needed,) that Hermione stepped out of the portrait hole. He'd been amusing himself with the scared looks of the younger Griffindors, but now he knew he was in deep trouble as she stared him down.

She advanced on him, and he nearly fell off his cloak. Thankfully, the cloak was enchanted to stand him up so he merely stumbled slightly, but remained standing.

There was no warning before she spoke. "You tell Pansy that she won't win. You won't, either. But she definitely won't."

With that, she stormed off. Draco let out a breath that he didn't know he was holding. Interesting. Granger had already figured out their dare--he honestly wasn't terribly surprised. But if she didn't want Pansy to win, then, maybe...

"Hermione!"

Draco ran after her. She didn't speed up, exactly, but she made it very clear that she didn't want to talk. "Hermione, wait! Please," he slid to a stop, nearly colliding with her, when she suddenly turned around.

"Yes, what."

"I... uhm... ahem. Well, if you really don't want Pansy to win, then tell Potter to go on a date with me. Just the one. I'll win my bet then we'll both leave you alone."

Hermione blinked at him, clearly calculating. Draco hoped that she would realize that Pansy would leave her alone after he won--better yet, he'd get to go on a date with Potter, it was like a dream come t--

"No."

Draco blinked. "No?"

"No. I don't think either of you should 'win'. We're people, Draco Malfoy, same as you."

She began to walk again.

"But, but, wait!" He shouted after her. "No, if I don't get the date by the end of the week, she _does_ win. I have to pay her. Fifty galleons. I don't have that kind of money anymore, I can't afford--"

He abruptly cut himself off. Why did he go and tell Hermione that he couldn't afford fifty galleons anymore? Fifty galleons was nothing! It was laughable! A nice cloak was worth more than a hundred, why did he--

"Fifty?"

He grimaced. Now she knew. Oh, how the Golden Trio would lord this over him.

"You bet her fifty galleons?" She snorted, as if he was so stupid to do such a thing.

"No. _She_ bet _me_ fifty galleons. If I win, I get a hundred. I could really use--"

He cut himself off again. He could really use a hundred galleons, truly. It was getting harder to pay for his father's lavish lifestyle, but he didn't want them to have to change. So, secretly, he took less. He put in more, taking on little side jobs whenever he could. Only his mother had noticed, but she hadn't said anything yet. She was just grateful.

Hermione stopped walking again.

"You could really use...?"

"Nothing. Nevermind. I don't need your help to woo Potter. It's fine."

He began to go back to the portrait hole. Potter would have to give in eventually, right? Surely? Maybe if--

He heard footsteps behind him. They were Hermione's.

"Draco, are you short on money?"

Draco winced. "I'm not. Draco. To you, at least. And my money's fine."  
Hermione looked at him for a moment. "Fine," she sighed. "I'll tell Harry."

"No!" _What was he doing?_

"I... I want to do this myself. Fairly. I want to win fairly."

Hermione sighed. "Then what are you telling me these things for?"

"I just... I just want him softened up a little. More open to the idea. Because, right now, he... he's avoiding..."

Draco trailed off. Hermione was still looking at him, like she was studying something. He didn't really like how perceptive those eyes could be, especially not when his heart was irrationally hurting at the idea that Potter wouldn't even interact with him.

"Okay. Then I just have one question for you."

"Okay, sure. Anything."

"Do you like him?"

Draco froze. Blood was rushing in his ears. He shouldn't have taken this dare. All those years of suppressing his urges and his crush and coming to terms with his sexuality in the bathroom after crying his eyes out and his father's face when he told him and his mother's disappointment welling tears in her eyes and--

"Draco. Malfoy. Malfoy, do you like Harry? Answer the question."

Draco gulped. Better to be truthful. "Yes," he whispered. Shame. That's what he felt. He was admitting, openly admitting, that he was gay to Hermione Granger. If she didn't have enough fuel over his financial situation, she certainly had enough fuel now. "Yes, I do like him."

Hermione studied him for a moment. "Harry?" she asked the air. Draco felt his heart plummet into his stomach. Potter hadn't been there, he hadn't--there was no one else in the corridor, how could he have possibly snuck up on him, how--

Draco saw Potter's lips move. Ah. Silencing charm. That explains it, then. Suddenly Potter's breathing could be heard. Draco didn't realize Potter breathed so loudly. Or maybe that was just his heightened hearing, caused by adrenaline.

Potter studied him. Sometimes Potter was an open book, easy to predict and easier to counter. But right now, studying him, Draco found he had no idea what Harry Potter was thinking, and it scared him.

"Thanks, 'Mione. I've got it from here."

She nodded, then walked straight into the wall. Ah. Secret passageway. Must have been how Potter got here, too.

"So," Potter started, then stopped. Draco swallowed. His mouth was suddenly awfully dry.

"You like me. And you're out of money. And Pansy is after Hermione? And for some reason you thought it'd be a good idea to ambush me. In front of my own Common Room."

Draco swallowed again. "I, uh, yes. And yes. And yes. And, uhm, yes. I suppose. Although I didn't want to ambush, just talk. To you. About... stuff. Quidditch."

There was an extremely long silence, where Potter just looked at him. Draco wondered if anyone would try to fish him out if he went to drown himself in the lake.

"I, hmm. I liked the... flying. From yesterday. Er, two, nope, three days ago. It was... nice."

God, why was he babbling like this? It was like eight years' worth of nervous crushing was suddenly making itself known in his voice. And was that a voice crack? He hadn't had one in years.

Potter stared at him a moment longer, then started... laughing. He just laughed. Laughed and laughed and laughed. Draco chuckled, feebly. Maybe he's set Potter off? Surely Potter had been near the tipping point since confronting the Dark Lord, and now he'd finally cracked? Draco wondered how many years in Azkaban breaking Harry Potter was worth. More than his lifetime, that was for sure.

Harry was doubled over, howling. "You-- you, Draco Malfoy, like me, Harry Potter. You're serious?"

Draco stared dumbly at Potter. "Yes."

Potter suddenly sobered up. "No way."

"Yes, why is it so hard to believe?" He flinched--of course it was hard to believe. He'd been tormenting him for years.

"It's just... I..." Potter snorted.

"I've been thinking that you were quite fit."

_Draco.exe has stopped functioning._

"And I... I did some soul searching and I've found that I don't... like... girls. I've never liked girls. I've always..."

Potter trailed off, still looking at Draco with this weird sparkle in his eyes. Draco was still processing. "You... just said you think I'm fit."

"Yes, Malfoy, I feel like it's been kind of obvious, actually. You caught me looking at your arse once, actually. Or did you genuinely not notice?"

Draco nodded, slowly. "I thought I was going crazy, because I've always wished that you would notice... me. In a good way. But you never did, so I resolved to have you notice me. In a bad way. But it was still your attention. There were times when you'd pay more attention to me than Chang or Weaslette, and I'd feel... so..."

 _Validated? Happy?_ "...noticed."

"Yes, Malfoy, well, you've been noticed. I really noticed you when we brewed amortentia. Last class? I didn't tell you what we were making, but you did everything perfectly regardless. We made it, and all I could smell was you. You, and quidditch supplies. Which you also kind of smell like."

Draco was stunned. Harry Potter had... noticed him? He smelled Draco when he smells amortentia? Was this a dream? A convoluted prank? But... no. He'd wondered why the potion had had almost no smell--just a faint touch of his mother's perfume. Nothing else smelled out of the ordinary. That's because he had been sitting next to Potter.

"Malfoy?"

"Mmm?"

"I think I would very much like to go on a date. Like, right now. Butterbeer or firewhiskey?"

Draco blinked. Potter was... Potter asked...

"Oh! Yes, well, hmm. Butterbeer. I don't need anything else clouding my brain right now. Not that you cloud my brain. At all. As a matter of fact, I can think perfectly fine around you. Really. I can."

Potter laughed. "Of course. And you're not stuttering, either."

"I'm not!"

They walked off, shoulder to shoulder. Tentatively, Draco took Potter's hand. Harry's. Harry's hand. Draco took Harry's hand, and they walked to Hogsmeade.

Behind the secret passageway, Hermione and Pansy high-fived.

**Author's Note:**

> Hermione didn't know at the beginning--Pansy told her the plan to make Drarry real when she pulled her aside, and Mione agreed. Romione for lifeeeeee (i might make a hermione/pansy fic eventually but this aint it, folks!)


End file.
